


Blown away

by Shotgun_Cake



Series: Flavors of lust [1]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: (maybe a little plot), (we love ''firsts'' don't we?), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And First Blowjob Received, Angst, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa Lives, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Early Days, Established Relationship, First Blowjob Given, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Porny Plot, Praise Kink, Self Esteem Issues, Smut, Sucking Cock: A Tale In Two Acts, but tender smut is what mostly happens here, i'm SOFT, vague mentions of rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgun_Cake/pseuds/Shotgun_Cake
Summary: When the day starts, Martín can tell pretty early on that something is going to happen. It's in the air. A silence, a tension. He can almost feel it, prickling at his skin.That very afternoon, Andrés corners him in the kitchen.~~~OR: an AU in which no one has ever sucked Martín off. He's actually pretty fine with it. And now that he's dating Andrés, he knows for sure that it will never happen. Right?
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: Flavors of lust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884799
Comments: 54
Kudos: 169





	1. [OS] - Blown away

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been told I’m known for my Fluff. And it is indeed my preferred genre. However, in a twist of fate, I am now starting a collection of smutty one-shots. Who'd have thought?

Whenever a man asks Martín how he feels about blowjobs, he usually replies something along the lines of _“why don't you follow me to the bathroom and find out for yourself?”_

Or perhaps he'll say _“I feel powerful! No one has more power over someone else than a man on his knees who knows what he's doing.”_

Most times, his answer is simply that he loves them. That if blowjobs are an art, then Martín is Mozart or Da Vinci, because he's mastered the craft to perfection, a virtuose in his field. And he loves showcasing his skills. He loves the weight of another man's cock on his tongue, the pressure against his throat. The taste of desire. 

He loves sucking cock, plain and simple.

Martín is a generous lover. He likes being used, giving himself over. An instrument for someone else's pleasure.

So that's what he'll say, because it's true, because he means it. And most times, those words will lead him exactly where he wants to be. On his knees, with some guy's hand pulling his hair and a cock shoved down his throat.

A successful Saturday.

However, when asked about blowjobs, Martín will never talk about how it feels _for him._ Not to perform one, but to receive one. He won't mention it. He will always choose, instead, to focus on what a competent cocksucker he makes. Or he will drop the subject entirely.

And that's because Martín Berrote has never received a blowjob before.

No one ever offered, it's as simple as that. The lovers Martín tends to choose for himself are usually more interested in using his body than pleasuring it. Hard and fast. Rough, even. Greedy. And afterwards, those men leave. Every fucking time. 

Martín didn't come up with _'boom boom ciao'_ all on his own. He didn't invent anything. He _lived_ it. He experienced it firsthand, throughout his life. That's why he knows exactly what he's talking about.

And he's fine with it, for the most part. He enjoys the pleasure he can procure, that's a joy he wouldn't trade for whatever it must feel like to have someone suck him off. 

So it's not a big deal, really, that Martín never received a blowjob. 

And now that he's started dating one Andrés de Fonollosa, he knows he never will. 

Which is fine. More than fine, it's fucking grand, actually. 

For years, Martín has wanted him, loved him, cherished him. Without ever caressing the hope of being more than a friend, or a confidant. A platonic soulmate, perhaps. But now he _is_ more than that. Andrés, in his great benevolence, deemed Martín worthy of becoming a partner to him, in every way possible. And that includes, romantically.

And sexually.

This is already so much more than he ever thought possible. More than he deserves, too. 

Martín won't be greedy. He won't be _ungrateful._

Putting someone's penis in his mouth is definitely something Andrés has never done in his life, something that wouldn't even cross his mind. Which is perfectly okay, because Martín could already cry with gratitude at the mere thought of putting Andrés’s cock in _his mouth._ And he has, oh boy, he has. With great enthusiasm. And - he's been told - with unparalleled skill. Duh _._

The shift in their relationship only happened a couple of weeks ago, so it's still all very new. Uncharted territory, especially for them, who were so used to each other's presence, so at ease sharing the same space. Not that this new development is making it _difficult,_ far from it. But the thrill of the discovery paints every waking moment in bright colors, basks them both in light and glory. Unfathomable pleasure.

Blowjobs are what they've done the most. Every chance Martín gets to have his mouth on Andrés is a chance that he will take. Seize the moment, _carpe diem,_ or whatever it was those philosophers meant. Not a single wasted opportunity, no sir.

They've also had sex quite a bit. With Andrés being the one to fuck Martín senseless, obviously. Feeling Andrés inside him, looking at his face above him, hearing him groan in pleasure and call out his name, it's just-

It's a lot, is what it is.

A whole fucking lot. Too much, by all accounts. 

Most times, when they fuck, Martín will bury his face in the crook of Andrés's neck, he'll mouth and nibble at his skin, kiss here, lick there. In truth, he's hiding. When Martín is kissing his neck, Andrés can enjoy his moment of pleasure without having to see his face. 

Other times, Martín will simply insist on being on his stomach, he claims he prefers it that way. And sometimes, he does. Sometimes, he's genuinely in the mood to be fucked just like that, to feel Andrés's strong grip on his hips, pulling his ass back while his face is shoved into the mattress. Martín is perfectly content to just lie there and _take it._ But this is also, quite conveniently, yet another way to hide.

In the same vein, Martín will always stifle his moans. Or at least he'll try. He'll cover his mouth, bite down on the pillow, bite at his own lips if he has to. Because Andrés shouldn't have to hear that, he simply can't. 

The voice of a _man._

Martín half expects Andrés will just kick him out of bed one day, when he inevitably fails. When he can't contain those noises, in his _masculine_ voice. 

In spite of his best efforts, Andrés still might throw him out, at any point. And Martín is sure he would deserve it. So he clings to what he has. He tries to take up as little space as he possibly can, and he _gives,_ he gives so much. He gives himself over entirely. Body and mind, heart and soul. 

He gives because that's all he knows, and because that's all he's good at.

Right this instant, he's giving Andrés a blowjob, on his knees in front of the armchair, and even though he isn't on the receiving end, Martín is having a fucking blast. They both are. 

He dares to look up, and Andrés is staring at him, bliss painted all over his face. When Andrés experiences pleasure, it reshapes his elegant features into something unique, something private. Something just for Martín, his secret to treasure. 

He allows himself to stare for a few seconds before closing his eyes again.

Martín can't stand it, he's- He's _moaning._ Quite loudly. He didn't mean to. He stopped touching himself when the sounds started escaping his throat, but that's not it. It's Andrés, he's doing this to him. He's turning him into that. A noisy, needy mess. 

And Andrés knows it. He enjoys it.

Martín feels a hand on his head, fingers gently threading through his hair. He wishes Andrés would _pull._ That he would demand more, and take it. But he just caresses his hair, and this feels oddly like a _'thank you'._

When Andrés speaks to him, his tone is even, but his voice is hoarse.

“I hope you can hear yourself. _Dear god,_ Martín! Have you been keeping those sounds from me? I want to hear it. Every time. Every time you suck me off, every time I touch you, every time I'm inside you. Silence isn't an option. I forbid it.”

Martín moans again and feels like crying for the gift he's been given.

_Permission._

He won't cry though. That would be pathetic. Andrés isn't even fucking his throat yet, so he wouldn't have that excuse for the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. It's only love. Adoration and lust all mixed together. 

A sigh of relief. 

Yet another strangled sound.

“You're really enjoying this, aren't you, Martín? It's not just for me. You _love_ it. It feels good _for you.”_

Martín moans around Andrés's cock, because now he can. And because it's true. He does love this. 

He looks up at Andrés's face again and finds him beaming down at him. 

“You're welcome”, he says, and Martín nearly chokes.

Andrés looks so smug, so pleased with himself. He keeps playing lazily with Martín's hair, leaning back into his armchair. He looks like a king. A generous emperor, so generous in fact, that he's doing Martín a _favor_ by letting him suck him off. That this was not what he wanted, but Martín insisted, so he's allowing it. For his sake. To please _him._

Martín is well aware of how full of shit Andrés is about this. He does intend to call him out on it at some point, when his mouth isn't otherwise occupied. But right now, he had to give Andrés the best blowjob of his life. He always does. He's boasted enough in the past. Jokingly, teasingly. Now he has to deliver. Every single time. Oh, he's not worried. 

And Martín wants to do this, has wanted to for a really long time. 

Even before _,_ when he was convinced that Andrés could never return his feelings, that he could never share his desire, Martín caressed the hope that this could happen. That one day, in a moment of weakness, Andrés would let him do this, if only this. Take him into this mouth and worship him, pleasure him. And from now on, Martín actually gets to. Not just as a means to an end, the closest mouth available in a time of need. He gets to do it _as himself,_ as Martín, with love, with devotion. He gets to devour him whole, and not have to worry one bit about doing it with enough restraint. 

Or enough silence.

Oh, how he moans around him. Not just because Andrés asked him to. Because he can.

Then, Andrés speaks again. And it's all downhill from there.

Because he just starts _complimenting_ him. Out of the blue. Martín wasn't prepared for that.

“You're great at this Martín, you're so good to me. You excel at so many things...”

_Fuck._

Martín tries to focus on his task. The brush of skin against his swollen lips is intoxicating.

“You have a gift, so talented, so _devoted._ I can't stop looking at you like that.”

It's too much. Martín's hand flies to his own cock to stroke himself. Not too fast, not too tight. Just enough to relieve the tension. In spite of himself, his hand stays there. The other one is coming to rest on Andrés's thigh, bracing himself as he takes him deeper into his throat. With an outrageous slurping sound.

“You're doing so well, Martín. It feels- it's not just how it feels, it's when I look at you doing it. You're so eager, you're- you're so gorgeous like that, moaning around my cock.”

Even as he keeps fucking his own fist, Martín wants to beg him to stop talking. He can't stand this. The praise, the compliments. The kindness. It's unbearable.

But he's dutiful, he just keeps swallowing him down. Hopefully, if he's _that good,_ Andrés won't be coherent for much longer. 

And he isn't. Martín sees Andrés finally closing his eyes and tilting his head back, an elated smile on his face. 

But still, he keeps babbling. The dirty talk turns into questions. 

“How does it feel for you, Martín? My cock in your mouth? How does it taste? Is it heavy on your tongue? What do _you_ like about this, Martín?”

Questions that he doesn't really want Martín to answer right now. Obviously. But he sounds genuinely curious. And he meets his eyes again.

Martín is going to die. His face is burning. Because of Andrés's words, his stare, his loving hand stroking his hair. 

Because he keeps hearing his own name in that voice. 

Then Andrés says the absolute worst thing he could possibly say in that moment. 

“What if I took _you_ into my mouth, Martín? Would you like that? Would you look as beautiful as you do when I fuck you?” 

It just happens. Andrés says it and Martín just- 

He just comes. 

Right then and there. He was barely even touching himself anymore. 

He’s overcome by this wave of pleasure, his cock twitching in his hand, his come spurting and landing on the hardwood floor. As his whole body tensed, his mouth opened impossibly wider. A silent cry. Andrés's cock slipped out of his mouth, but his hand is still in his hair.

Martín can't look up at him. He wasn't done sucking him off, and now he failed even at that. But Andrés simply lets out an appreciative groan, clearly amused, and stands up from his armchair. Once he’s on his feet, he guides his cock between Martín's lips again. _Thank fuck._

The first rough thrust takes him by surprise, and Martín chokes before he takes him in.

Finally, Andrés tightens his grip around his hair and starts fucking his mouth, and Martín is so grateful for it. Andrés is using him, just like he wants to be used, and he doesn't talk anymore. He just holds his head, demanding, demeaning, and Martín gladly accepts it.

It doesn't take long for Andrés to come down his throat after that, and Martín hums around his throbbing cock, swallowing it all.

As Andrés pulls out of his mouth, he also loosens his grip around Martín's hair. He strokes it instead, a final caress before he pulls up his pants and sits back in the armchair. Picking up his book. Oh, right. He was reading when Martín ambushed him. 

“Don't forget to clean up your mess”, Andrés reminds him distractedly, not even looking up from his page.

Martín obliges. It is indeed _his_ mess. Everything is.

They don't mention it afterwards. Andrés's words. A veiled offer.

_What if I took you into my mouth, Martín? Would you like that?_

Martín's cock gives another valiant twitch just as he thinks about it.

Except it wasn't an offer. Martín understands that. It was just dirty talk. Genuine curiosity, maybe. But Andrés would _never_ do that to him. Nor would Martín ask him to. He's already in awe of all the things he's been allowed to do, to have _done to him_ by Andrés. He doesn't need that too. It's more than enough.

But apparently, Andrés wasn’t done tormenting him with this.

The next incident happens soon after that. The following day. The first time they're getting intimate since that blowjob where Martín lost control.

He doesn't think about it.

Andrés, for once, is taking his time. He took Martín to bed in the middle of the day, just because, and now he's undressing him. Slowly. He didn't let Martín rip their clothes off like he always tries to. No, he's unwrapping him, like it's a _discovery_ and Andrés doesn't know what he'll find. It's ridiculous. Andrés is letting his fingers brush against the exposed skin, kissing Martín's chest, his stomach, his thighs. Meeting his eyes as he does, smiling up at him.

Martín can't look at him.

These touches, these stares, it's way too much. It's just like yesterday, the gentle words, the tender hand in his hair. Martín doesn't want that.

Martín _wants_ that.

And it scares him so, so much to have it.

Which is why Martín can't look at Andrés right now, and that's his mistake. Because the moment he closes his eyes, he feels something so unexpected, so outrageous, that the _loudest_ noise passes his lips.

His eyes snap open to find Andrés’s head between his legs, mouthing at his cock through his boxers. His lips are pressing hard, and Martín feels the warmth of his tongue even through the fabric.

“Andrés, _fuck-”_

When he hears Martín's strangled voice, Andrés looks up at him. Hungrily. Proud of this control he has over him. 

Then he presses his lips to the fabric again, dragging his mouth across his cock, and Martín just can't handle that. The sight, the sensations, are way too much. 

Martín clenches his eyes shut, his fists twisting the bed-sheets, and he can't stop himself from coming. 

In his boxers, like horny teenager. Pathetic.

He hears the gorgeous sound of Andrés's voice, his soft laughter. Which is only fair. Martín deserves to be mocked for his weakness. 

But that's not what it is, not really. Andrés isn't making fun of him. He enjoyed this. He's _pleased._

At least, that makes one of them.

Worse, Andrés doesn't let Martín suck his cock, and doesn't fuck him after that. He just throws his clothes on the bed and starts to head out.

“Come on Martín. I'm taking you out for some lunch.”

Smug fucker.

Martín barely has time to get cleaned up before they leave.

Later that day, and for several days in a row, Martín feels off. 

He's ashamed. 

He's embarrassed to want something so much, so desperately. He usually has no shame about wanting Andrés, but _this?_ This, he shouldn't want. That's something he can’t have. It’s obvious that Andrés is toying with him. He enjoys the state Martín is in, and he loves being the cause of it. But he won't suck him off. He would _never_ suck him off. Andrés had never even touched another man until about a month ago. Of course, he's not going to give Martín a _blowjob._ Of course not.

And that's fine.

Martín feels weak for letting the idea go to his head like that, for letting the thought consume him.

Since that time when Andrés _licked_ him through his boxers - and prompted him to make a fool of himself - Martín has barely let Andrés touch him. Oh, he’s touched Andrés, it's all about Andrés. He sucks him off, he makes sure Andrés fucks him nightly. But always on his stomach, or on his hands and knees.

He does like that, after all.

Andrés shouldn't feel any obligation to try something that will surely repulse him. Something that could make him stop wanting Martín for good. 

He can jerk off on his own while Andrés is fucking his throat or pounding into him. 

It's fine, it's all fine really.

Until it isn't.

Andrés wasn't born yesterday. He can feel Martín growing distant, pulling away from him. And he can't stand it.

When the day starts, Martín can tell pretty early on that something is going to happen. It's in the air. A silence, a tension. He can almost feel it, prickling at his skin. 

Andrés keeps throwing glances his way without saying anything. Which is very much _not_ like him. He wants Martín to ask him what's wrong. He doesn't.

Like most things that disturb him, Martín chooses to ignore it entirely. If Andrés has something to say, something to complain about, surely he'll do it soon enough. Unlike Martín, he’s not the type to sulk in silence.

That very afternoon, Andrés corners him in the kitchen. 

Martín has barely dropped his empty glass in the sink when he feels firm hands on his waist, flipping him around and guiding him towards the nearest wall.

“Andrés, what-”

There are two fingers against his lips and teeth scraping at his earlobe. Andrés is pressing his body against his, pushing him harder against the wall. Letting his erection rub against his hip. Martín feels himself get hard immediately. From feeling Andrés's arousal or from the manhandling, he doesn't know. Either way, it’s happening.

A demanding hand starts palming him through his pants, and Martín is whimpering already. He's fully hard in no time.

 _“Perfect”,_ Andrés whispers into his ear. “Now, listen carefully Martín. I am going to do this, and you won't stop me this time.”

Andrés pulls away to meet Martín's eyes as he unzips his fly, and his words make absolutely no sense, because when has Martín ever tried to stop Andrés from doing anything? Let alone, from doing _him?_

Then Andrés lowers Martín's pants, his underwear, and he starts bracing himself for a rough fuck against the wall. Oh, this is gonna be good. Andrés sounds angry, for some reason. Martín can definitely work with that.

But instead of flipping Martín around and pressing his body against his back, like he's supposed to, Andrés smiles at him and slowly sinks to his knees in front of him. Martín nearly chokes.

He should put an end to this, somehow. But Andrés holds him in place with a stare. And Martín can't possibly refuse him anything, not if Andrés has decided he wants to do this. 

And Martín, oh, how he wants him to. Desperately.

Andrés looks in front of him, at Martín's cock, hard, throbbing. He lets out a warm breath that makes Martín shiver. He has to look away, his fingernails digging into the skin of his palms.

“Why didn’t you want me to do this?”, Andrés asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Don't you like it?”

Martín doesn't open his eyes as he replies 

“I just- I don't think _you_ want to do this. Not really.”

“Well, I'll be the judge of that.”

And just like that, there's a tongue on his cock, lapping at the head.

Martín lets out a broken whimper and nearly bangs his head against the wall.

He knows he's leaking precome already, which can only mean Andrés is _tasting_ him. 

His eyes fall open just in time to see Andrés lean in, wrap his lips around his cock and take it into his mouth. 

This time, Martín's moan sounds more like a sob.

The sensations, the pleasure, are unparalleled. Especially paired with the sight of Andrés like that. 

On his knees for him. 

Andrés is looking up at him, half his cock engulfed in the tight heat of his mouth, and he starts bobbing his head slowly, watching his face as he does.

That's perhaps the worst part of this. The thing that will make Martín come embarrassingly fast. Andrés is fully _in control._ Like he always is. His movements are tentative, yes, but he's the one staring Martín down, beckoning him not to move. 

Even with his lips wrapped around Martín's cock, Andrés looks powerful. Because he is. Of course he is. He decides, he controls him and his pleasure, Martín entirely at his mercy. Which is exactly how he likes it. How they both like it. 

Martín meant it when he convinced himself he didn't need this. But God, this feels fucking amazing. 

And it’s made impossibly better due to the fact that it's _Andrés._ That Andrés is doing this for him, that he's willing to. That he insisted on it. 

Martín is pinned to the wall, bracing against it, as he's forced to just feel everything. He can't comprehend what's happening. To him. To them. It doesn't make sense that Andrés is doing this. 

It makes even less sense how _good_ at it he is. Call it beginner's luck, or perhaps he's a natural. Martín groans at the thought. That Andrés could be a natural at sucking cock. That it's an innate skill he was given. 

Not that Martín has anything to compare it to, but he knows he's good. His nerve endings are on fire, his whole body burning for Andrés's touch. He's not opening his throat for him, of course not, but he takes him in deeper, hums around him, and it's a small miracle Martín hasn't come yet. 

Martín slams a fist against the wall behind him and makes another horrendous sound. He feels broken. He is broken.

Andrés takes him out of his mouth and looks up at him curiously. 

_Shit._

He can tell. Of course he can tell. He’ll know what kind of freak Martín exactly is. He's been nothing but a whimpering mess, when Andrés barely even started. There must be a look of pure shock on his face, betraying that Martín hasn't done this a lot before. 

That he hasn't done this at all. 

“It's been a while, hasn't it?”, Andrés asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

His slick, swollen lips. A hypnotic sight.

Martín looks away, doesn't answer. A mistake.

“Really, Martín?”, Andrés insists. His breath is still caressing his cock, sending shivers down his spine. “No, it can't be, not you... Don't tell me you've _never_ -”

_“Please, don't-”_

Martín doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't need to. He just looks at Andrés and sees understanding washing over his face. 

Andrés stares back, dumbfounded, before a devastating grin splits his face in half.

“So that makes me your first, doesn't it?”

Martín nods furiously, fighting the urge to move, both of Andrés's hands firmly holding his hips. So he nods, and he can't take his eyes away from Andrés's face

“No, I want you to say it.”

_La concha de su madre._

“No one, Andrés”, Martín manages to say. To whisper. “No one's ever done this for me. Only you.”

“Remarkable...”

And his mouth is on Martín’s cock again, soft lips wrapping around it, eyes still looking up at him. Andrés swirls his tongue around the head, tauntingly, obscenely, before laying both of his hands on Martín's ass and pushing him further into his mouth.

A string of swear words and incoherent groans comes out of his mouth, but Martín only hears the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, thumping, pounding, loud and fast. Escaping him.

Andrés isn't showing any hesitation, this time around, he's just going for it. He's just doing it. 

And as Martín can't help but stare at him, he's coming to the foolish conclusion that Andrés is- 

That he's enjoying this. 

It can’t be, but that’s exactly what it looks like. His eyes are bright and unfocused, his hands insistent on his skin. He keeps letting out guttural sounds, little hums and groans. 

He _is_ enjoying it. Quite a bit.

It does make sense, to an extent. For the power he holds. He likes being the first one, the _only_ one, for Martín. No one pleasured him like he did. Never. Martín prays no one ever will.

Andrés did start off a bit tentative - it's a first for him too, after all - but now knowing that, it seems to have unlocked something in him. It makes him bold. Martín just confirmed, indirectly, that he isn't comparing his performance to anyone else, and maybe it was just what Andrés needed to hear to give it his all. 

He keeps looking up at him too. There are slurping sounds, the blowjob is getting messy, _sloppy,_ and Andrés doesn't seem to care, he's just staring at Martín's face as he completely unmans him. 

The sound is lewd, making him go dizzy, but it's nothing compared to the sight of him.

Andrés hands keep pressing his ass, pushing Martín further into his mouth, until the head of his cock bumps against his throat, and it doesn't breach it, but Martín cries out anyway. The pressure, the heat. 

The raw pleasure of it. 

At last, Andrés closes his eyes, and it's somehow worse. He looks like he's savoring it, like it's art, or music, or wine. Like he's sampling a taste of Martín, and is finding the experience quite pleasant. He’s letting out indecent groans, low in his throat. _Vibrating._ It sounds similar to the noises he makes when they kiss, deep and messy, when Andrés loses himself into it. But it feels- God, it feels so much more intense than that. 

Martín sees and hears it all, he feels everything, overwhelmed by it. Overwhelmed because Andrés is willingly, _enthusiastically_ sucking Martín's cock. 

Which begs the question: what the actual fuck? 

He won't be sucking him off for much longer though, not with how fast Martín feels his orgasm approaching. He focuses on the moment, strives to commit it to memory. It's not that big of an effort, he knows this event will be burned into his brain for all eternity. As it should.

As the heat is pooling in his lower back, rushing to his groin, prickling, crawling, Martín tries to warn Andrés, to push him away. He tries, desperately, but Andrés doesn't let him. His eyes open again and look up at him, dark and intense. A warning. He's decided to do this. How dare Martín try and stop him?

It's insane. Sure, this is how Martín does it for Andrés, sucking him off until the very end, swallowing it all, gratefully. But he never expected Andrés would be willing to do that, to actively shove Martín's cock between his lips and try to make him come and- 

Martín just stares at him with wide eyes, his lips parted in a fruitless, silent protest. Andrés's eyes do not leave him. He groans around his cock, almost humming, his fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, and Martín can’t help but come in his mouth. 

Only then, as he tilts his head back against the wall, does Martín feel the tears prickling at his eyes, falling when he clenches his eyes shut, rolling down his cheeks as one final moan escapes him.

It should have been Andrés's name, but his lips couldn't even form the word. They were shaking, as was the rest of his body. His orgasm overpowers him entirely, overrides every instinct, every sensation besides that of Andrés's mouth around his cock, clenching, swallowing, loud and shameless.

Martín has rarely been so blissed out, so utterly lost, in his life. He knows he's being loud, but in truth, he's focusing on standing up straight and not crumbling to the floor. 

That's how much pleasure Andrés gave him. 

That's how much power he holds over him. 

As Andrés pulls his mouth away, his hands also leave Martín's ass and slide down the back of his thighs, caressing the skin in slow, gentle strokes. That's the moment Martín's legs finally give out. He just sinks to the floor, on his knees, facing Andrés. 

Staring at him in awe. 

“Andrés-”

Martín doesn't know what to say. _'Thank you'_ doesn't even _begin_ to cover it. 

Andrés pinches his lips, wincing at the taste in his mouth, and Martín just leans in and kisses him. Andrés laughs against his lips and kisses him back slowly, lazily. 

His lips are slick and swollen and Martín never wants that kiss to end, bitter taste and all. He doesn't care. 

Pleasure made him giddy.

Andrés is the one to pull away. He promptly gets on his feet, ever so graceful, and holds out a hand to help Martín up. 

When they're at eye level again, Martín still very much dazed and confused, Andrés cups his face.

“I was quite curious about this”, he starts, very matter of fact. His voice is raspy and Martín wants to scream. “I didn't hate it.”

Andrés's hands leave his face to grab his clothes instead, carefully pulling Martín's underwear back up, and then his pants.

“You did not make it easy for me to give it a try”, he continues, fastening Martín's pants, “but I am pleased that I did. It was eye opening, really.”

He’s perfectly calm about this, while Martín feels like a ball of emotions, bursting at the seams.

“Andrés, I don't know what to say, I-”

 _“However”,_ Andrés cuts him off, a smirk on his lips, “what happened today was a one-time offer.”

Martín bites back a sigh of disappointment. His own fault. It's on him for getting his hopes up. 

“Of course. Yes, that's- that's fine.”

“So don't expect me to swallow next time.”

After those devastating words, Andrés leaves the room and Martín nearly falls back down on the spot. And he would be perfectly justified.

Because Andrés said _‘next time’._ He implied, as though it was obvious, that they would keep doing this. The words seem to echo in the room, like a promise. 

Andrés de Fonollosa might have many quirks, but he is a man of his word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **@[ _shotgun-cake_](https://shotgun-cake.tumblr.com)** on Tumblr  
>  **@[ _Shotgun_Cake_](https://twitter.com/Shotgun_Cake?s=09)** on Twitter


	2. [Extra] - The ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrés has been sitting in his armchair for close to an hour. Reading. 
> 
> Outrageous. 
> 
> Martín could have ignored him. He’s tried. But Andrés is making it simply impossible for him to focus. 
> 
> ~~~
> 
> OR: I've been asked what I meant by _"Martín ambushed Andrés"_ , so here's a drabble/companion piece to the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a sequel to "Blown away", but a little addition to the one-shot. Let's call it a deleted scene. Because I started the scene mid-blowjob, and that was very rude of me.
> 
> Many thanks to [dashwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwood/pseuds/dashwood) for being my beta, and for drawing those words out of me in the first place.

Andrés has been sitting in his armchair for close to an hour. Reading. 

Outrageous. 

Martín could have ignored him. He’s tried, honest to God, he’s fucking tried. He’s sat in his own armchair, picked up that book on thermodynamics he'd been dying to dive into, and proceeded to not register a single word written on the first page. 

Because Andrés is making it simply impossible for Martín to focus. With his mere presence. His _sound_. Andrés doesn't seem familiar with the concept of reading silently. He keeps clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, undoubtedly disagreeing with the point his book is defending. He hums. He _groans_. And he does that thing where he puts two fingers against his lips and taps, taps, taps. 

The worst part is that Andrés doesn't even know what he's doing. He's probably just lost in thought. Focused. _Annoyed._

But Martín? Martín is fucking hard. Painfully so. He wishes Andrés would just look up. Take one good look at him and, perhaps, feel generous enough to bend Martín over the coffee table and fuck him senseless. Take him, _use him,_ just fuck his brains out. Until Martín has a valid fucking reason for not being able to get what are very _basic_ thermodynamics principles. 

But no such luck. Andrés doesn't notice him. And Martín wouldn't usually disturb him, not whenever he's clearly busy like he appears to be right now… But recently Martín's been feeling... brave, perhaps? He's been noticing how Andrés hasn't rejected any of his touches, the very few ones Martín was bold enough to initiate himself. 

And he knows, for a fact, that there are things he can do. Things that have proven in the past to work out to his advantage, every single time. 

So Martín trusts that the statistics are on his side when he gets up from his chair – not warranting even a glance from Andrés – and promptly walks up to him. Then, without a single word, he sinks down to his knees in front of him and leans forwards between Andrés's legs, both hands coming to rest on his thighs. 

He looks up, convinced the offer is clear, and at last, Andrés is looking at him, the hint of a smile playing lazily on his lips. He quirks an elegant eyebrow, because _really Martín? You couldn't help yourself, could you? You wanted it too much, I wasn't even paying attention to you, but you? You were paying attention to me..._

Martín doesn't ask. He drags his hands up Andrés's thighs, his trembling fingers reaching for the button of his fly. Andrés blinks at him once before closing his eyes and tilting his head back, leaning against the back of his armchair. 

Martín is allowed. 

And what he is given, he takes. He makes quick work of the fly, delighted to find Andrés already half-hard in his pants. Martín briefly wonders what sort of book he was reading. He doesn't dwell on the thought, and dives in instead. Immediately getting his mouth on Andrés's cock. 

He presses his lips against the shaft and begins his ministrations. Just small, taunting flicks of his tongue, peppered along his hardening member, and Martín cannot wait, so eager to take him into his mouth, to _taste him._

He hears a faint thud on his left and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know that Andrés just put down his book on the coffee table. 

He does need to open his eyes, however, to stare, proudly, at his handy-work. At Andrés's cock, thick and hard, ready for Martín. And he doesn't make him wait. He allows himself one look, and rushes to wrap his lips around the head, closing his eyes again and taking a sharp inhale through his nose. A new rush of desire overcomes him as he feels Andrés on his tongue. 

Martín leans forward to engulf the rest of him into his mouth, and makes quick work of his own fly. He just needs to relieve the pressure, only a few strokes for him, nothing more. He's here for _Andrés_. 

“It turns you on to suck my cock, doesn't it, Martín? You could have asked me to fuck you. And maybe I would have, but... _this_ is what you chose to do instead. Fascinating.”

Martín just moans, startled by the sound, and finds himself unable to stop jerking off as he keeps bobbing his head. He dares to look at him, and finds Andrés’s eyes open again, staring down at him. Piercing. 

Fuck _._


	3. [Extra] - Taste of victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrés has never given anyone a blowjob. 
> 
> Of course he hasn’t. Up until a few weeks ago, he’d never even been with a man in any sexual capacity. 
> 
> Due to the recent developments in his romantic life, however, it turns out that Andrés has been _thinking_ about it.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> OR: a glimpse into Andrés's take on the _events_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another companion piece. A _remix_ , if you will. 
> 
> All of my love to dear [dashwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwood/pseuds/dashwood), who beta-read again, and who (rightfully) requested an Andrés POV ♥️

Andrés has never given anyone a blowjob. 

Of course he hasn’t. Up until a few weeks ago, he’d never even been with a man in any sexual capacity. 

Due to the recent developments in his romantic life, however, it turns out that Andrés has been _thinking_ about it. About blowjobs, and the possibility he would ever give one. He’s quite baffled himself.

Whenever the topic arose, he was used to only thinking about it from a man’s point of view. Well, the man who receives the favor. And he does enjoy blowjobs a lot, how could he not? He always loved it when women did that for him, putting _his_ pleasure first. More than once, he’s wondered how it felt for them. If there was any gratification in it for those women, or if it was purely an act of devotion.

He never got a definite answer. 

And then came Martín. 

Martín, with his hungry eyes and his greedy mouth. Martín who sucks Andrés off all the time, for no reason at all, except that he’s vaguely nearby. Martín who does it skillfully, _artfully_ , and looks deliciously blissed out with his lips around his cock.

Looking at Martín, it was never a question. He visibly _enjoys_ giving blowjobs, shamelessly, almost desperately. Andrés thought that what he liked most about the act was having his own satisfaction being placed front and center. Now he’s not so sure anymore. Because he got to witness someone else experience pleasure from sucking _him_ off. That surprised him. That intrigued him.

For the short, blissful time he and Martín have been together – meaning, in an actual relationship – Andrés has gotten used to quite a lot of changes in his sex life. He’s loved everything they’ve tried so far. He’s almost positive he would have loved anything involving Martín’s wonderful, burning body against his. And he knows Martín has been loving this too. In sex as well as in everything else, he’s an open book to Andrés. Even when he tries to hide, his desire, his pleasure, he wears them on his face. He’s _transparent_ , and Andrés loves that about him.

So they’re having quite a lot of sex. 

But still, they haven’t done that one thing. 

Or, as Andrés has started to think, they haven’t done it _yet_.

Because, in quite the plot twist, Andrés cannot stop thinking about sucking Martín off. He never thought it would come to this, he didn't even see himself as the sort of man who would be willing to do that. Let alone, who would _want to_. 

But he does. He is. 

Seeing Martín in action changed a lot of things. The spark in his eyes, the _fervor_ , every time he's about to take Andrés's cock into his mouth. He looks like he wants it. No, like he _needs_ it. He needs Andrés to feel the pleasure of his touch, and he needs him to take that pleasure from him. 

And Andrés has. Of course. There are gifts no man could turn away, and the gift of Martín's mouth is definitely one of them. Andrés knows his luck that this one was reserved for him. 

But for the past few weeks, he's been curious. More than curious. Obsessed. The sight of Martín sucking his cock – and as he just found out, the _sounds_ he makes as he does – are leading Andrés to believe one can enjoy the experience quite a lot. That perhaps, even Andrés himself would enjoy it. 

Were he given a chance to try. 

That's where the problem lies. Or maybe it's yet another reason for this new desire of his. But it seems that Martín doesn't want him to. He doesn't want Andrés to suck him off. He barely even lets Andrés touch him anymore. 

Andrés doesn't know why. Whatever it is Martín is feeling – whatever it is he's _hiding_ – it's been eating away at him. His smiles aren't as frequent or as teasing. There is still that spark in his eyes when Andrés works on his body, but he doesn't get to see it as often, because Martin always looks away. 

Oh, he wants Andrés, that much is clear. But it's almost as though he doesn't want Andrés to want him. 

No. 

He doesn't _expect_ Andrés to want him. 

That cannot fly. 

Andrés wants Martín. He wants everything about him. His smiles and his looks. The sound of his laughter in the morning. The echo of his moans in the night. 

He wants all of him, and that includes his cock. In his mouth. So he'll have it. 

Andrés won't force him, but he will _take from him._ That's what Martín wants, isn't it? To be told what to do. 

Well, he can lead. He's great at that. He doesn't know if he'll be great at the thing he wants to try, but he's decided to do it, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone stand in his way. Martín himself included. 

He was expecting more resistance from Martín, when he cornered him behind the sink. A strategic move. No escape route. 

But Martín lets himself be led, flipped around, manhandled. Delightfully pliant, as always. 

The look on his face, when he understands what is about to happen, is perhaps his loveliest yet. Eyes wide in shock, parted lips, his breath catching in his throat. His shaky hands that he frantically presses against the wall behind him. 

Andrés shifts on his knees, freeing Martín's cock from his boxers, and he knows, before he even tasted him, that this is something he's bound to repeat quite a lot. If only to elicit such a strong reaction from Martín again. Desire and panic blending together, the fear in his eyes when the rest of him betrays pure lust. 

There is something poetic about the fight within, these sides of Martín waging war against each other, secretly, silently. And it is such a thrill to know that he's won. That Andrés only had to sink to his knees to put an end to this. To command Martín's body. To make him cave into compliance. 

Time has come. Finally, Andrés takes his cock into his mouth, and Martín lets out a strangled sound that Andrés has never heard before. Which is saying a lot, because he’s heard them all, or so he thought. 

Andrés lets his lips slide further down, around Martín's shaft, and he's struck by the heat of it. Almost feverish. Andrés can feel desire on his skin, brimming, burning, all consuming. 

Is that how it feels for Martín, to suck him off? Is that something he likes? 

It's oddly pleasant, this warmth inside his mouth. Andrés isn't particularly fond of the taste, but the unsettling weight on his tongue is stirring something in him. Not an instinct, not an impulse, but _something_. Raw and feral. 

Andrés is still hard, he realizes. He should have lost his erection by now. By all accounts, this isn't about him, he isn't even being pleasured at the moment. Nor is he going to be, not just yet. 

But his dick seems to have a mind of its own. To have decided, against all odds, that Martín's cock was a mouth-watering sight, and the feeling of it rubbing against the insides of Andrés's mouth, the pinnacle or arousal. Fascinating, truly. 

The taste should have been an issue, though. But Martín's vocal performance is more than enough to distract Andrés from it. And so is the sight of his face, all bright eyes and flushed skin. Embarrassment slowly fading away, making room for raw pleasure. 

Pleasure that Andrés is causing. 

He always gives Martín pleasure, of course. He takes, but he also gives. To an extent. 

But this? This is different. This is _only_ for Martín. 

No matter how achingly hard Andrés gets, no matter how badly he wants to stand up and make Martín take his cock instead, he won't do it. 

He will let Martín have this. He will let _himself_ have this. 

There is something almost selfless to Andrés's mission – almost – and neither of them is used to that. 

Andrés has never done this. 

And it seems, neither has Martín. 

He does ask, almost jokingly. But it turns out he was right on the money. Never. _Not once._ How tragic, yet how wonderful. 

Andrés can't help but taunt him, because _how improbable was that?_

But the truth is, hearing from Martín that he was right, that he is in fact the first to do this for him. Well, Andrés loves this. 

He didn't need to be good at it. He just needed to try. To want it. That's all there was, for Martín to completely fall apart before his eyes. 

Someone to want him, to really want him. 

Andrés can do just that. 

And in return, he'll be the only one to ever see Martín like that, so blissed out, so _lost_. He'll be the only one to ever make him that way. A worthwhile reward. 

It should have been demeaning, staying on his knees for so long, _servicing_ another man. For many years, Andrés wondered, how could women – and men – lower themselves to such a debasing position, such a whorish task? 

He's wondered, and still, it didn't stop him from giving it a try. Andrés blames hedonism. Curiosity. Mostly, he blames Martín, and his fervent eyes, and his pliant lips. 

But he doesn't feel an ounce of shame for what he's doing. He feels many things. He feels a cock in his mouth, that much is clear. Warm and thick, with a strong, heady scent. Throbbing with Martín's desire for him. 

But mostly, he feels proud of himself. For trying. For _succeeding_. 

Andrés understands, now, what Martín meant. There is no one more powerful than a man on his knees. A ridiculous statement, but as always, his engineer had some insight. 

Martín belongs to him. 

He always did, in a way. Martín is not withholding the signs of his devotion. But in this instant, Andrés _owns_ him. He pleasures him, yes, but he controls him. His mouth and his body command Martín, keep him right where he is, draw sounds out of his throat. 

A moaning, blushing, shivering mess. And Andrés has made him that way. 

**Author's Note:**

> 👀 👀 👀  
>  **@[ _shotgun-cake_](https://shotgun-cake.tumblr.com)** on Tumblr  
>  **@[ _Shotgun_Cake_](https://twitter.com/Shotgun_Cake?s=09)** on Twitter


End file.
